Chapter 81: Left and Right Turns

Many of the achievements accomplished by modern humanity have far exceeded people's imagination. Precisely because of this, history has witnessed countless events that defy belief.

On a morning in 1860, between 5 a.m. and noon, a classic battle unfolded at Baliqiao in Tianjin—a confrontation between a modern army and a feudal force, known in history as the Battle of Baliqiao.

On one side stood the Qing dynasty’s troops led by Sengge Rinchen, comprising the Eight Banners and Green Standard Army. Their weaponry was a mix of cold and hot arms: old-fashioned smoothbore muskets, arquebuses, bows, arrows, spears, broadswords, and the Qing’s vaunted Banner cavalry, totaling over thirty thousand men.

Opposing them were the Anglo-French allied forces, equipped with new smoothbore muskets and field artillery, numbering just eight thousand.

Many officers in the Anglo-French alliance later wrote memoirs vividly describing their adversaries: “fiercely unafraid of death,” “they proved East Asian armies are brave,” “they launched attack after attack through the artillery fire,” “the horsemen seemed reborn from the ashes,” and so on.

In short, this was one of the few respectable battles fought by the Qing. Their soldiers did not flee at the sight of white men, nor were they paralyzed by the sight of guns and cannons. With the capital at their backs, they fought with all their might.

The outcome: Sengge Rinchen’s thirty thousand troops suffered more than half casualties, while the Anglo-French losses were as follows—three French soldiers killed, seventeen wounded; two British killed, twenty-nine wounded.

This casualty ratio was inscribed in Xu Wenshan’s previous life’s history textbooks, and for a long time, he simply could not imagine how a battle could end like that. Much like Sengge Rinchen himself, he never thought his thirty thousand men would be even more fragile than tofu.

Later, Xu Wenshan finally understood: the progress of civilization is a process of accumulation. Modern people are not inherently smarter than their ancestors; rather, they have amassed a far greater store of civilization’s power.

Modern armies did not crush feudal armies merely through superior firepower, but because every detail, from top to bottom, far surpassed what feudal institutions could muster—that is what made the difference so overwhelming.

The fifty people Xu Wenshan had gathered so far could hardly be called an army; at best, they were a militia. But he was confident that, one day, this force would become the seed from which a mighty army would grow.

He could not manufacture modern firearms yet, lacking the means to obtain gunpowder, as there was no saltpeter in the area, and steel-making techniques remained undeveloped.

Yet he still believed he could forge an army capable of sweeping the continent, for he possessed military thought refined through thousands of years of warfare.

The next day, Xu Wenshan ordered his men to assemble at the Xiyuan shooting range.

At dawn, the chosen fifty gathered at Xiyuan, only to find Xu Wenshan already waiting for them.

“From today onward, you are soldiers. I am honored to tell you that from now on, you will live in the newly built barracks and eat the same food as I do. You won’t need to farm or hunt—just complete your drills, and each month you’ll receive fifty copper coins in pay.”

At these words, the men nearly cheered, clutching their fists in excitement. Free lodging, meals provided by the young master of the manor, and money to boot—it was as if they had ascended to paradise.

“But from now on, you are no longer villagers, nor subjects of the State of Chen, nor even ordinary men. You are soldiers, bound by the strictest discipline. If you break the rules, you will be severely punished in peacetime, and executed in wartime! If anyone is dissatisfied or regrets joining, you may leave immediately!”

Xu Wenshan paused for a minute. No one left; their expressions were resolute.

For they feared starvation even more than dying in battle.

Xu Wenshan allowed himself a satisfied smile. This was an environment where a strong army could be born.

But he quickly collected himself. “From now on, I am your supreme commander. My orders are to be carried out to the letter. I will issue countless regulations, and you must memorize them all, for if you violate even one, I will ensure you never forget it.”

Xu Wenshan divided the fifty men into three squads according to their accommodation, appointing three squad leaders.

As if destined by fate, Lei the Tiger, Wu Yi, and Li Dazhuang became the squad leaders.

The first thing Xu Wenshan did was cultivate their sense of collective identity.

Training commenced that very day. The content was much like military drills: attention, at ease, attention, at ease, turn left, turn right—not even the simple marching step was included.

These basic military stances have tormented countless high school and college students for months. Students imagine military training as carrying rifles and crawling beneath barbed wire, but in reality, it is endless turning left and right, which seems rather silly.

But in fact, it is not silly at all. These basic drill stances trace their origins to the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries.

When musketeers of modern times faced off, the standard tactic was “firing in line.” Maintaining formation under fire was no easy task. Imagine: as you stand there, your comrade beside you suddenly collapses with a cry, another’s head explodes with a sickening thud, splattering brains across your face—in such a moment, any normal person would likely turn and run.

Basic drill stances are about instilling a habit, an inertia of discipline—no matter how the world falls apart around you, you must stand your ground, unmoving, not taking a single step back.

Only those who have mastered their stances are qualified to hold a gun and contemplate the future.

Wu Yi was feeling thoroughly frustrated. Xu Wenshan had drilled them all morning, yet Wu Yi still had no idea what the young master was trying to accomplish, nor the point of all those left and right turns.

He thought it all too simple, so simple as to be boring.

But come afternoon, when Xu Wenshan assigned the squad leaders to train their respective squads, Wu Yi realized to his dismay just how hopelessly inept his men were.

They couldn’t even turn left or right properly. Every time they shouted the command, the squad would twist and scatter in all directions, and some even had to pause and ponder which way was which.

Wu Yi reported the situation to Xu Wenshan, who could only give a wry smile, for every squad faced similar problems.

Confusing left and right was common in ancient times. In fact, it’s not rare even today. It’s said that when Zeng Guofan trained the Xiang Army, many soldiers were clueless about left and right, so he had them wear a shoe on one foot and none on the other to tell the difference.

Xu Wenshan, of course, had no need for such methods. Instead, he told them to raise the hand they used for holding chopsticks, informing them that the chopstick hand was the right, the other was the left. Special training was given to the left-handed.

By the end of the day, all fifty soldiers had finally learned to turn left and right.